Belonging to the Night
by TheMaddnessOfDr.Strangelove
Summary: Sam leaps into Frasier Crane on a mission to keep the renowned psychiatrist's ex wife, Lilith, from self destructing over the loss of their son. However, this proves difficult when he falls in love with her. Post Mirror Image & Goodnight, Seattle.
1. Prologue: Genesis

_('Quantum Leap' and all related characters are the property of series creator __Donald Bellisario and __Belisarius Productions in association with Universal Television__. 'Frasier' and all related characters are the property of series creators David Angell, Peter Casey, David Lee, Grub Street Productions, and Paramount Television. This piece of fan fiction was made with love & respect and the author has made no profit from writing it.)_

_Author's Note: Chapters will not typically be this short. _

_Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator, and vanished._

_He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al; an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so, Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap, will be the leap home._

Prologue: Genesis.

To describe leaping was to describe dieing. The heart would race, the breath stiffen and shortened as if an invisible hand were choking the air out of Sam's throat. His life and all the little holes his swiss cheesed brain couldn't grasp would flood back and flash before his eyes. He became calm and knowledge of his body would fade away and he'd watch his life go by, his consciousness sinking deeper and deeper into a warm pool. Then a surge of electricity would call him back. All in an instant. The blink of an eye.

This time, however, the numbness was more inviting than usual. It caressed him, surrounded him. The void never felt this pleasant, this _lastly_ contented. No one to ask anything of him, no price to pay for one more life to live. Free. The right word finally came to him, making all others pale in comparison. This, of course, like all things in poor Sam Beckett's life, was to be short lived.

A tingle in his wrist brought with it the realization of his body. He could feel it out there somewhere, as if his head were away from the rest of his corporal being and his spirit was still using its sense of touch to find it, but had only found his wrist. And he didn't try to help it. He was so _relaxed_. He was forgetting himself. So much so that he took his first breathe of this new freedom and found water greeting his lungs.

His head shot out of the bathtub. Still gagging on the tub's contents, he flung himself over the edge onto the floor. His waterlogged back smacked hard against it. His groan came out as a gargle. He rolled onto his stomach and let the heaves come for what seemed like days, his cheek mashed against cold tile in the interim. And then stillness. Days truly minutes, his wrist nagged for his attention. No longer a tingle, pain reached him for the first time. He ignored it. His thoughts needed collecting. The first one, as always, was his name, somehow jumbled and lost in the leap. Samuel 'Sam' Beckett. Social Security number. 563-86-9801. Profession. Quantum physicist. Status. Trapped in time.

The next bit of information his brain reached out for was what was he doing before his leap brought him here. A selective problem, Sam could not always remember his previous leap, at least not right away. Sufficed to know that he had done so. He rolled onto his back and took his first uninhibited mouthful of air. Feeling returning to his body, he quickly noticed the wet, sticky substance under him. The familiar touch gave way to an epiphany. He confirmed this by shakily raising his wrist into his vision.

He had leaped into a suicide.

"Oh boy," he said.


	2. Chapter One: December 15, 2006

Chapter One: December 15, 2006

One of Sam's seven doctorates was medicine. Lucky for the guy he'd switched places with, whoever he was. He pondered the answer as he tended to his wound at the bathroom counter, occasionally taking a gander at the other man's reflection in the mirror. The shine off of his bald head might have blinded Sam if under the right light bulb. He still had hair on the sides (and all over his chest), light brown and graying fast. Equipped with a heavyset build and a distinguished leer, Sam practiced turning his nose up at the suspiciously pompous likeness through the looking glass.

The cut in his wrist wasn't as bad as he first suspected. In fact, Sam had probably done more damage trying to grow gills. He did see other, older scratches from other cuts. This hadn't been the first time the fellow had tried to take care of himself. Very likely could have this time, Sam considered, staring at the towel wrapped around his waist, once white, now pink with watery blood. Even a small wound like that could kill a man if allowed to bleed out under hot water.

Having taken care of the ailment with the miracle of peroxide and a 'complementary' first aide kit, Sam walked into the room. Hotel room, to be precise. A fact quickly learned upon viewing the spacious accommodations, mini bar, and wolf pack of pillow mints. He sat on the bed and silently (and half mockingly) congratulated himself. _Well, Sam_, he thought. _You hit the big time_. Just like someone with money to be unhappy enough to attempt self-termination. Dr. Beeks, Project Quantum Leap's staff psychiatrist, would say important, affluent people, tended to have inflated egos; an obvious observation. As such, when upset or pain traumatized their lives, it was a longer way down to rock bottom than the average person. Which was why so many celebrities so often dealt with long periods of melancholy and ended up on the news, dead and naked in alley ways, strip clubs, the back of burger joints, and hotel bathrooms. Strange how one way or another, they died naked…

Sam didn't have time to waste thinking about that. Clearly, he had leaped into this man to keep him from further suicide attempts. Although, that meant extensive therapy with Dr. Beeks and Al back at the waiting room, so he wouldn't take another crack at suicide when Sam leaped out. Speaking of, where _was _Al? Sam didn't usually have to wait too terribly long before his trusted friend and holographic observer popped in to bring Sam up to speed on what he needed to do to move on. Whatever the exact details, Sam had a feeling this would be a tough day at the park. He had been promised once they would get tougher***(explanation below for non Quantum Leap fans)…and they had, but lately they had become fairly routine again, even mundane. A sure sign of a whopper on the horizon. Sam's memory was a little better. He still couldn't recall his last couple of leaps very well, but enough for his swiss cheesed brain to fill the bigger gaps and suspect a curve coming up. Just being out of danger long enough to think straight did wonders. Helped to have a bed underneath him that felt like it got its feathers from gilded geese, too.

A muffled beep fought its way through his thoughts for attention. Not the familiar blinking of Al's handlink, however. Instead it sounded like a cell phone logging a voice message. Despite constantly being hopped through the fifties and sixties most of the time, Sam well versed himself with modern technology whenever he shot out into the short term past. The phone beeped again. Didn't take him long to find it. After sifting through the bed's besieged covers, the small, but powerful communications tool plopped onto the silky sheets. Indeed, the screen indicated a message via an envelope graphic floating into frame and being opened by invisible hands. He clicked a few buttons, and then held it up to his ear. A robotic voice informed him of two unread messages. The first began with a loud cough very close to the receiver. So much so that Sam held the phone back as if to prevent infection. After the auditory siege subsided, Sam listened.

"Sorry, chief. Catching cold. Hey…it's your old man. Just wondering if you've picked up Lilith yet. You're probably trying to lasso her off of her broomstick as we speak. If you're still as worried about her as before, I wouldn't mind…" There was a long sigh. "Hell…all things considered…with everything she's been through…and what _you've _been through…maybe it would be a good idea if you brought her to Seattle for Christmas. Ronee, Daph, your brother, and all of us could get together. Call me, will ya? Let me know what you think."

The voice in the next message was just about as hoarse as the other, but emanated from a throat accustomed to swallowing lava rocks. At first, Sam wasn't sure he wasn't listening to an automated call until it started in full force.

"…I don't know who conned you into this, Frasier, but just because I spend a stretch in the hospital doesn't mean I need my ex-husband running to my aide like some kind of lap dog battling codependency issues and sexual frustration. Stick to little children and burning barns, Lassie."

So his name was Frasier. He had a gruff, yet seemingly sweet natured father and an ex-wife spawned from the jaws of Cerberus with a set of pipes to match.

"Charming, ain't she," Al greeted through gritted teeth tearing deep into a cheap cigar. As he stepped out of the imaging chamber door's beam of light, it collapsed onto itself. Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, flamboyantly dressed as always, was wearing a full three piece suit, bright red down to his waistcoat, shirt, shoes and tie; topped off like a strawberry ice cream cone with glitter from shoulder to shoulder.

"Al!" Sam exclaimed, jumping up. "Where the hell have you been?!"

Sam's typical annoyance with his tardiness never fazed him. Al countered lackadaisically with almost gleeful amusement as he explained, while fondling his multicolored handlink. "When the guy appeared in the waiting room he was bleeding like a stuck pig. All over the place. Like some cheap slasher movie. It was nuts. Thank god I was wearing red, huh?"

"I was almost swimming in it," Sam replied holding out his arm.

"Wow…you could have died. No wonder Ziggy's been going haywire."

"Haywire?"

"Yeah. Apparently you changed history just by leaping in at the right time." Al punched in a few statistics and the handlink squealed in response. After a couple of raps, he continued. "This fella died in the original history. Looks like you prevented that."

"Uh huh. Then why haven't I leaped yet?"

"Dunno. Ziggy has a couple of theories."

Ziggy, the sentient supercomputer, had access to countless databases and public records, and using them could calculate what events in history need changing. This included statistical figures.

"What's the most likely one?" Sam asked. Usually, the theory with the highest probability was the true mission, but there had been unexpected twists before.

"Actually, its pretty simple."

"Believe that when I hear it."

"Just stay put and cool your jets while Dr. Beeks and I chat with the guy and see if she can't help him toward a breakthrough. And then ka-za-zoom! You'll leap."

"That could take months—years!"

"Take it easy, Sam. The guy's a shrink. Maybe it'll make things move twice as fast…"

"A psychiatrist?"

"…If not, you could always live it up here for awhile." Al whistled his approval after a brief scan of the hotel room. "Nice digs."

"Al! A psychiatrist?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Al went back to punching in information on the handlink. "He used to be a radio shrink jockey in Seattle. Eleven years, too. Then he got some cushy radio job in San Francisco and a morning T.V. deal. Ended up passing on it to chase some hot broad in good o'l blood drenched Chicago."

"What happened?" Sam was understandably confused. The man he replaced seemed to have some of the best luck in the world. How could all that end with an attempt at his own life? Sam knew a rough twist of fate was sure to be around the corner.

"Well, things worked out pretty good for a few months. He hooked up with her and started a small private practice, but…"

"What?"

"Oh man…talk about a curve ball. His son was killed in a car accident two years ago. Drunk driver slammed into the car he was ridding in. He was only fifteen. His mom was driving him home from school. She had primary custody…Mrs. Personality on the phone. Lilith Sternin. Your ex-wife. She's a shrink too. Boy, oh boy."

"She called me Frasier."

"Yeah. Frasier Crane. M.D., Ph D., A.P.A.," Al recited. "Born 1952. Studied at Harvard _and_ Oxford. Anyway…after his son died, he drifted away from his beau, stayed in Chicago, and his practice has all but collapsed."

Sam listened to what happened with heartfelt curiosity. He felt lousy about the silent cheap shots he'd dealt Frasier Crane. Nobody deserved that. And he could see how it could drive a man to his very limits…and beyond. As he began to understand this man's pain, a healer, he understood the breakdown. When a doctor, a preserver of life, is left powerless in the hands of fate's cruel grasp, it tests him. Maybe this psychiatrist, even with all his wisdom, his ability to mend the mind and soul, couldn't turn his high-powered perception inward to repair himself. Sam felt sorry for him. And grew more determined to help him.

"So that's all I have to do?" Sam asked, conceding to Ziggy's advice. "Stick around until you can help him through this?"

"Ziggy gives it about a sixty-one point three percent likelihood."

"That's it? Come on, Al. Ziggy's going to have to do better than that."

"The other theory only has a twenty percent likelihood," Al argued.

"What is it?"

"The other possibility is that you're here to help Dr. Sternin move on. She just had a brief stint in the hospital for an accident she had in her apartment. A colleague of hers found it suspicious, but rather than tell the authorities, he called you, cause he has to be out of town for a seminar and can't keep an eye on her. He figures since you both were involved in the tragedy and were involved intimately for such a long time, that you should take her home and find out if she's purposely trying to harm herself."

"Is she? And does she try again?"

"Ziggy doesn't know yet. You changed history pretty drastically when you leaped in, and she's having a hell of a time getting a lock on the revised records."

"Then until she can, I'm going to look after Dr. Sternin. It's better than just sitting around waiting for her to try and hurt herself again."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Al didn't usually commit to something that simply. There was always the rigmarole that included an argument and an uneasy settlement on one theory or another.

"What? It's the best idea until Ziggy can get more info. I figure after all this time I can learn to trust ya…every once and awhile." The two shared a brief smirk amongst themselves, and then Sam dove into the walk-in closet and started getting dressed. Al stayed outside, absentmindedly mashing buttons on the handlink while he ogled the mini bar.

"Al?" Sam called. "Where and when am I exactly, anyway?" Sam's muffled words popped Al back to reality.

He stuck his head through the closet door. "Boston."

"I'll never get use to that," Sam regarded the hologram's ability to walk through solid surfaces.

He stepped all the way through. "Oh, and it's December 15, 2006. You're at the Westin Copley Hotel. Hey! I once brought a date here. Two weeks. Never left the room, if you catch my drift."

"I don't think Beth would like hearing that."

"Oh, like you could tell her," Al replied. "Your delightful shrew is at Boston General. She works there as a research psychologist—you're not gonna go outside in that, are you?"

Sam had chosen a dark blue suit. He covered it with a black long coat and had a matching scarf wrapped around his neck. "What?"

"You look like a dork. A well-to-do dork. But a dork."

"I am. And always have been, if you remember, Al."

Next Chapter: The Popsicle

***In the series finale, Mirror Image, the bartender "Al" (believed to God, fate, or time) told Sam, that should he continue to leap, the leaps would become tougher to complete.


	3. Chapter Two: The Popsicle

_Author's Note: This chapter makes a reference to how long Sam has been leaping. 'Over a decade.' Yes, I realize Quantum Leap first aired twenty years ago in 1989. However, I am going by the show's established timeline of events where Dr. Beckett leaped through time in 1995 and the show follows him over the course of a five year period, the final show taking place in the year 2000. The leap is in 06, so add at least another seven or eight years of leaping._

Chapter Two: The Popsicle.

_Boston. Where Sam Beckett went to MIT, and where he and his mentor, __Sebastian LoNigro, __developed the string theory that Project Quantum Leap is based on._

Sam had grown up on a middle class farm. Made it hard for him to identify with Frasier Crane, a man whom, the more Sam stayed in his stead, appeared to have driven anything and everything ordinary or common out of his personality. Not that Sam hadn't gained notoriety and success, being a child genius and an adult Nobel Prize winner, but he had always managed to maintain a strong connection to his roots, something Frasier Crane only knew about in spas. Sure, his father sounded like a breath of regular joe air, but as Sam's mind began to sync up with Frasier's, he sensed tenseness between them and a slight and hardly secretive embarrassment as to where he had come from. That didn't mean Sam didn't empathize with his pain. He, himself, had been dealt a blow with the passing of his father suddenly, leaving Sam with a guilty conscience for not being there when it happened. Yet, there was something far more devastating here. After all, as hard as it was to lose his dad, natural order had taken proper course, albeit prematurely. As much as that hurt, he couldn't even bring himself to imagine what it was like to have to bury a son, much less raise one, a piece of yourself and still divergent, unique. However, he had taken crash courses before, some in matters of science years beyond human comprehension, and some that meant life or death in the middle of someone else's existence, and the latter was a definite possibility. Not only did he have to get a hold of Crane's life, another might hang in the balance.

Al had departed back to the duo's own time, leaving Sam to drive Frasier's first class rental car to Boston General Hospital, a model he didn't recognize, to pick up a woman who was already intimidating him from a distance. Whether it was simply a personality quirk or because their ex-relationship had left bad blood, Sam couldn't say, but he did know that the son Frasier Crane and Lilith Sternin raised and saw departed had been the key to their destruction (and still could be) and could be the answer to their deliverance. As he followed the familiar (and snow filled) Boston streets to the hospital, Sam took what evidence he could from the car in order to better prepare himself for meeting Dr. Sternin. The number one rule of Project Quantum Leap was to convince everyone around him that he was indeed the person he replaced, and the syncing of minds between himself and the displaced party was only slight and wouldn't see him completely through. The car was a rental, so it didn't offer much. His clothes had given some clue as to his taste and the great pride Frasier took in his appearance, even when he was suffering. He eyed his equivalent in the rear view mirror from time to time, noting his clean shave and smooth hair cut. He was a chameleon. To see this man on the street and think that he was capable of suicide was impossible. He was man who had it all figured out, something Sam could definitely envy. And yet, in this man's heart there was an agony that ate away at him like a cancer. At a red light, Sam dug in his coat pocket and looked to Crane's wallet for more answers. Something, anything that would give him more to work with until Al could fill him in further. An actor needs motivation to pull of a part, doesn't he?

He found a driver's license, a million and one credit cards and two times as many club memberships. A wallet with many compartments is a wallet with secrets. He fumbled with the tight leather pockets, pulling out anything else that could help. He found an old movie ticket. Then a receipt for a pair of shoes whose price could be mistaken for an area code. Just when he'd given up hope, his eye caught the worn edge of photograph sticking out of a crease. Clasped between two fingers, Sam was reminded again of tragedy. This time, it had a face. By the looks of it, it had been taken many years ago. The scene seemed to be some kind of formal school gathering. Sam saw a fraction of a banner in the background, mounted on a stage that said—_Marbury Academy. Congratula_—the rest was cut off. In the foreground, chest puffed out and head held high, was a young boy with round cheeks in a suit much too small for his frame. His neck seemed to be hiding from the camera inside his collar. His parents stood behind him one hand on either shoulder, standing a careful enough distance from one another. One face he recognized. Grinning from ear to ear, like a farmer over a prized pig, was the enjoyably haughty Frasier. The other seemed to shoot fire from her black burn holes masquerading as eyes. Sam would have assumed the flash had bleached away her features if indeed the cameraman had used one. He hadn't. The only indication that proved there was indeed a human face were bright red lips, stretched thin by intense malaise. Lilith Sternin: stoic, chilly, and dressed to kill conservatively. Slacks and a blouse clung to her frame with masculine tact. Simple. Plain. All in all, an uncompromising foreshadowing of the task that lay ahead, but somehow, Sam couldn't help but find himself drawn to the woman. Maybe it was just the merging of two minds, a leftover residue of Frasier's attraction. Yeah, that's right. That's all it was.

Nothing could have prepared Sam. Nothing.

Like any major metropolitan hospital, it was horrendously busy. Following suit was the lack of polite banter between ricocheting off one another. He either ran into a doctor with too much ego to care or a nurse as mean as a junkyard dog. When Sam finally reached the reception desk he got more of the same.

"Hi," Sam greeted the blank faced woman. Her silence hastened his business. "Uh…I'm here to pick up…Lilith Sternin."

"She's on her way down now. They're having…some trouble."

Perplexed by that answer, Sam opted to remain quiet. What did that mean?

"She also rang down and said that if her _pitiful marshmallow ex husband_ came _swaggering in_ to _sweep her off her feet,_ I should send him packin'…I guess you'd be mister stay puffed?"

"Uh…erm…"

"Pulling her punches, today."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh…we _know_ you."

_Yikes_. Sam had been in countless peoples' lives and met characters with every quirk or personality glitch imaginable, but none so demonized by word-of-mouth than this Dr. Sternin. Even Frasier's own father thought twice before suggesting he bring her to Seattle, despite the death of his grandson. Sam couldn't help but be a little nervous about meeting her for the first time, and worse, doing so in the body of a ex-husband; a man foolish enough to wed her and insane enough to divorce her.

"The elevator."

"Huh?" Sam was having a difficult time keeping it real. He was busy putting horns on the mental image he locked into his memory from the wallet photograph.

"She should be coming down on the elevator."

Standing there, trying to get a story straight with nothing to go on was a harrowing task, but one Sam had gone through on every leap. He didn't know Frasier Crane yet, and until he did, BS was the only thing at his disposal. After more than a decade of leaping, he was _okay_ at it. Lying never took to him as easy at it did to Al, who was usually there either with the information loaded in the handlink or a good hustle to get him along. He could have really used him there. His stomach was one giant knot. Why was he so uneasy about Dr. Sternin? He had been in tougher leaps than this. Much tougher. Much deadlier.

He felt like a teenager waiting on a prom date. Could it be…

Tightly pulled hair attached to a bare forehead like a spider to a rock was the first thing he saw as the elevator doors (gateway to Hades) parted like a sea bubbling over. As soon as those cold, brown eyes laid their gaze upon him, Sam's legs felt like jelly, fighting, oddly enough, the pressure winds of an ice volcano. He couldn't tell if she was mad, exactly. The same malaise kept a tense grip on her face. Clothing her, Sam swore he saw the same blouse and slacks, this time draped under a long, heavy, winter coat. Or was that a cape? The word, _delicate_, was not in her fashion vocabulary. Direct and simple, Lilith Sternin went out of her way to appear as unattractive as possible to, as she so often told people, scare men stupid.

It was working.

Without even knowing it, Sam took a step back, nearly stumbling over his own feet and right through Al, whose head popped out of his torso like an alien chest-burster. "Al!" He exclaimed with mild horror. So much for Lilith thinking Sam was Frasier.

"Forgotten my name, Frasier?" Lilth cocked an eyebrow as she passed Sam, followed by an orderly pushing a wheelchair, begging in an exercise of futility.

"Great job, Al," Sam muttered. He had to run after the bony woman to catch up to her speedy pace. He almost met her at the exit, before nearly breaking his leg crashing into the U-turning wheelchair. Lilith barely acknowledged the incident, determined to be on her way.

"Wait!" He caught up with her on the curb. She was trying to hail a cab when he reached her. "Wait. Let me take you home. It's…on the way."

"To Chicago?"

Sam tried to laugh between strenuous breaths, but only managed to stumble through his next sentence as he recovered from his tumble. "No…I…uh…can I...take you home? Please?"

She only shook her head. "Who called you? Was it Albert?"

"No, not me, witch," Al said, appearing beside her. He often misused his invisibility.

"Uh…"

"Nod your head Sam." Al coaxed.

"Yes?" Sam blurted as more of a question.

"I should have foreseen this obsessive attachment when he confessed to me in an inebriated condition that his mother's departure as a infant had caused tribulations in his dating life. I always fall in bed with the freaks." This epiphany was followed by an obligatory scoff. Lilith often imitated life. Like a robot, or even a store mannequin. Despite these attempts, it still came off as a mock.

"Was there any English in that?" Al usually fawned over women in the leaps, envious of Sam's position and natural chrasima, trapped in a shy and moral shell. Now, he could only affront, albeit with wide eyed wonder, as one observes a lion eviscerating its prey. "Oh," he realized, finally apt to do his job. "_Albert_…is a former boyfriend and current steady colleague of our charming little girl here. He gave you a call when she went into the hospital. Speaking of which, Ziggy's back on her feet—ya know—for a computer—and I have some info for ya."

"Uh…"

"Not now. Wait until you get her home and we can chat in the latrine like usual. Probably not a good idea to talk to yourself in front of a shrink anyway."

"Lilith." The name didn't exactly roll off of Sam's tongue. "I…_Albert _just thought he should have someone close to you make sure you got some rest…for a few days."

"We haven't been _close_ in years. I hardly need a nursemaid. Least of all, you. I won't have it."

"Oh, yes you do, honey," Al interjected, as if part of the conversation. "She tried to off herself. ODed on sleeping pills. Played it off like an accident. And according to Ziggy, she's going to try something again tonight…and she's gonna get it right this time."

"Maybe I can change that," Sam answered Al.

"No, you can't. I don't need anyone to look after me," Lilith snapped back, unaware of the second conversation. She turned and walked further down the curb away from them and called for a taxi.

"You better go after her, Sam!" When it came down to business, Al was just as committed as his old friend. "If you aren't watching her like a hawk, she'll be at it before she's home for too long!"

Sam's pant leg was wet with snow as he threw himself against the cab's open door. Lilith tried to push him out of the way, but he wouldn't budge. "Please?" He reached for ideas, anything that would convince her. "We could catch up. It's been awhile since we've talked."

"You could have phoned, Frasier."

"Yeah, but…I wanted to see you." The answer seemed to come from deep within. Perhaps Frasier had wanted to see his wife for one reason or another. He _had _come to Boston, after all. Why he decided to kill himself instead was moot to Sam at this point. Dr. Beeks could handle that. He had to deal with the here and now, so to speak. Sam couldn't help but feel something stir as the sentence left his lips. He still thought it was residuals of Frasier's mindset. A guy could still love an old flame and wish to re-ignite it. Sam dared not consider the alternative.

Lilith rolled her eyes. Her dry, technical, vocabulary left nothing to the imagination. "_Please_. I don't have time to feel vulnerable so you can get some sort of kinky gratification. You want to vent your sexual dissatisfactions in an attempt for validation? Make an appointment."

"But, you _do_ have time to try suicide," Sam uttered somewhat venomously. His tone softened upon mention of her son. "I miss Frederick too," he said, becoming more in tune with Crane as the seconds passed. "I…thought about it too. I know what you're going through." Despite getting more inside Frasier's frame of mind, Sam hated speaking for the people he'd switched with. There was a certain immortality to it that stuck to the back of his throat. It wasn't his place to do so, now more than ever before.

Lilith's stun, either from sheer surprise or being caught, didn't show except from her parting words. "You bastard." With a hard shove, she pushed him away from the door and went into the cab.

Sam exchanged a grim beat with Al, and then took off toward his car. "Al, I need her address!"

"You got it, Sam!"

Next Chapter: The Boy.


	4. Chapter Three: The Boy

_Author's Note: I've made a poster for this fic. I realize the Frasier/Lilith image is from Cheers, but it's the best I could do. There might be extensive resizing depending on what browser you view it in. Zoom in or save for best quality. Link is at my profile page._

Chapter Three: The Boy.

"I've been meaning to ask you," began Sam, eyes glued to the road, his knuckles white as hot coals around the steering wheel. A busy intersection and a two-car pile up interrupted his thought. After some careful maneuvering and a wary bending of road rules, he picked it up again. "How is Dr. Crane?"

"He's better," Al answered as he plucked the cigar out of his lips. After a jaunty exhale, he allowed time for the smoke's image to pass through Sam. He crossed his legs and put the handlink on his lap. His hand anxiously patted his pant leg while he parted with his newly discovered information. He wasn't technically sitting, of course. As usual, to make Sam feel more comfortable, Al had programmed the imaging chamber to allow his likeness to track a vehicle's movement, thus creating a palatable illusion. "After we convinced him he wasn't dead or insane, he started opening up to Dr. Beeks. Been a hellish two years. You already knew that. Before that he spent eleven years as a divorcee, jumping from one bad relationship to the next. The gal from Chicago was a serious let down. Blames himself for it all, cause of his kid's death. He practically hides from his family. Father's name is Martin. Has a brother. Niles. He's a shrink, too."

"And Martin?"

"Detective. Retired. Has a bum hip. Lived with Crane all that time."

"What about his mother?"

"Dead."

"Abandonment issues?" Sam was no shrink, but he could play devil's advocate.

"Beeks doesn't think so. His mom died well into his adulthood. Women _do_ have a tendency to run out on the guy, though. Beeks thinks—"

"Got to let his family back in. I sensed a tenseness between him and his father."

"Yeah. The two are fairly amicable, but there are some issues they never really resolved. Dad's a more…traditional male compared to mister fancy pants. A lot of professional jealousy between him and his brother, too."

Sam nodded. "He needs them. And someone else, I think." Sam hadn't completely thought out his theory on the matter, but it needled at him like a devil with a pitchfork and a couple of itchy palms. A churning feeling deep in his gut made every indication of it going against his better judgment. It didn't matter. In his heart the hypothesis was right. Throughout history, dangerous notions had been acted upon in the name of the heart, and Sam Beckett, of all people, knew better. The heart sees what it wants. It deceives to get it. And leaves a pile of broken bodies in its wake. And Lilith Sternin was in its crosshairs. Why did this peculiar force, a mere organ, that held stricter reigns than Lady Godiva, feel so drawn to the ice queen? And what did his mind say? Rationale, where art thou?

"Oh no, Sam." Al's warning did nothing to quell Sam's decision. "You know better. If it didn't work the first time, there's no way in hell cramming them together will do either of them any good."

"Who says?" Sam prickled Al.

"Anyone with half a brain seeing the train wreck coming up the tunnel. Dr. Beeks _and_ Ziggy have already ruled that out."

"Forget about Ziggy."

"_Putting two suicides together at a time like this will only create an abusive codependent disaster waiting to happen_," Al recited the project psychiatrist's words. "And besides—wait a sec—_forget_ about Ziggy?!"

"You heard me right."

Al narrowed his eyes. His glare only made Sam smile. He looked like a narc eyeing a flighty perp. After a long pause, Al finally cocked an eyebrow and said, "Are you sweet on this chick?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know that voice. You're hiding something from me, Sam. Somethin' clicked with the imp goblin."

"Aw come on," Sam bleated. "My mind's merging with Crane's. That's all it is. Besides, there is nothing wrong with wanting to help their relationship. Even if I can't get them back together, I can at least enable them to help one another."

"Uh huh," Al uttered slyly.

"Everything's sex with you," Sam accused.

A long silence passed, broken by the whipping of the harsh New England winter.

"What?!" Sam finally exclaimed.

"What, what?" Al shrugged, his surprise as genuine as his Cuban cigar…from Honduras.

"Nothing! Okay?" Who was Sam trying to convince? Al? Or himself?

"Okay, Sam. Take it easy."

Another long silence.

"Never figured you for that type," Al mused.

"Al…"

"Like 'em to treat ya like dirt to get ya…stimulated…"

"Al…"

"Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"Al!"

* * *

The apartment was a little run down for what Sam and Al had expected the digs of a successful psychiatrist and research psychologist to be. It wasn't a pit by any means, but a little frayed around the edges. Plain was a better way of putting it. Sam figured it would have been in the middle of a busy social epicenter and glossy, like it had been polished with ham. And maybe a doorman weighed down by tassels would be blocking his entry until he could be rung up and announced to the queried tenant. Not the case. Sam stood on the snow-covered sidewalk with his hand buried in his pockets, getting a better picture of Lilith's pain. She had sequestered herself, pushed herself away from the world as far as her sensibility would allow.

The elevators didn't work. Guided by Al's directions, Sam jogged up the stairs being careful not to give any passersby a glimpse of his distress or the fact that he was talking to himself. Finally, the safari through the fourth floor hallway came to an end. Door number 414. Lilith's address. A light tan door with no peephole. Sam was hesitant before knocking. In all his hurry to get there, he hadn't been able to come up with anything to convince her to let him in. Al, his ever snoopy hound dog, went ahead, disappearing through the door. Sam shook his head and raised his fist to knock. It froze when he noticed the ever so light sketch, of chalk or something similar, etched just to the left of her door number. Pulling focus, the number now read 3414. It seemed familiar, but Sam's swiss-cheesed brain couldn't place it.

"You gonna knock or what." Al's head popped through the wood. "She just got out of the shower."

"Figures," Sam replied. "It's the only time you get that sparkle in your eye."

"Oh, Sam," Al said, clutching his heart. "I take back every bad thing I said about her. She's a goddess. With legs that go on and on….and on."

Sam rapped on the door just to drown out Al's horny meanderings. _Wait a minute_, Sam thought. _Goddess_. _34:14_. God's day of vengeance in the Hebrew bible and the only instance in which said bible refers to Liyliyth, the demon goddess, the bearer of infection and demise. _The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and the satyr shall cry to his fellow; Liyliyth also shall rest there, and find for herself a place of rest__._ "Lilith's Jewish," Sam said.

"Yeah," Al said, plugging at his handlink. "Didn't think it was relevant."

"It isn't," Sam answered. "It only helps prove what we already know."

"What?"

"She's in pain." He knocked again while Al shrugged, slightly confused, unaware of Sam's discovery on the door.

"Go away, Frasier." Lilith's muffled voice through the door was enough to make Al take a step back.

"How the hell am I going to get her to let me in?" Sam hadn't given it any thought until that point.

"Well, you're the one who wants in her pants. Schmooze her." Al stressed the two O's as he drew a long drag off of his cigar.

"We need to talk," Sam said, ignoring Al's sage advice.

"Call me when you get back to Chicago."

"Might be too late then."

The latch on the door scraped back. Lilith's pale visage peaked through the narrow crack. A sash of a dark blue robe swayed through the opening. "What do you want?"

"To talk," Sam repeated. "I know you too well to let this go. Our marriage aside, I think we owe it to our son to talk about this."

"Digging up my son isn't going to win this argument for you!"

"He was my son too," Sam lied as the door slammed in his face. He sighed and put his back to the door. He'd never been faced with a stonewall shut out like this before. Dr. Sternin wanted no part of anyone, least of all a pitiful handout like the one Sam had to offer. She was dead set (bad word choice) on quietly doing away with herself and not even bringing her intentions out in the open would soften her resolve. Not even Al had any substance with which to win her. This was one leap Sam was beginning to regret. Yet somehow her determination endeared her to him. Made him want to try harder. He barely knew this woman, but he _did _know her. Somehow. And he would not let her go. Not like that.

"I'll go keep an eye on her," Al suggested. "Meanwhile, find a way to slither through this door."

"Yeah. I'll get a sledge hammer and bust it down."

As Al faded into the architecture, a muted ruckus rose over the stuffy hallway's calm. Fighting. Sam followed the sound to another door. Screaming emanated from it. Not just that. Shouting and the meaty sound of flesh being battered. Sam raised his fist to knock, but only rapped against air as the door disappeared and was replaced by a dwarf running head first into Sam's stomach, nearly toppling him. He instinctively grabbed hold of the boy, red cap, backpack and all. He couldn't have been more than ten. He looked up, pale eyes wide with fright; Sam's large with panicked uncertainty. Before he could say one word, the little squirt pushed him away and took off for his life, vanishing from sight as quickly as he had come.

"Run, ya little punk!" Came the booming voice from before. "Don't come back until you learn your lesson!" A mammoth of a man appeared in the doorway. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. Insane, considering the kind of weather outside. The guy had muscle definition, but a beer belly had grown underneath it. In other words, he was a walking cliché and the type of man Sam had seen all too often. A drunk who took his aggression to his family. Couldn't tell off the boss so he brought it home and smacked anything smaller than himself. Sam qualified for that position, but despite his jaw hung slack in sight of the mountain monster, he was apt to apply.

"Like beating on kids?"

"Who the hell are you? Child Protective Services?"

"No, I'm the guy that's gonna—"

The man took a step forward, his shadow enveloping Sam in a single move.

"—call the cops the next time you lay a hand on that kid."

"Excuse me, cue ball?"

"I think you heard me." Sam's collar grew as big as dumbo's ears when he found himself wrenched up off his feet by a single hairy claw. With his free _meat hook_, the offending gentleman produced a shiny badge and pressed it against Sam's cheek.

Sam was close enough to smell booze permeating off of his breath. "I'm on the job, light snack."

"Oh boy."

Next Chapter: Angel of Mercy.


	5. Chapter Four: Angel of Mercy?

_And this Blind Dragon brings about the union between Samael and Lilith._

Chapter Four: Angel of Mercy?

Red dulled the shiny, chrome doorknob. It wasn't every day that a man knew what it felt like to be a javelin. Nor would Sam Beckett's swiss-cheesed brain forget it either, even if he were to leap for another fifty years. He didn't need to run his fingers through his scalp to feel the flow of blood pulsing out of the wound. If he didn't know better he would have guessed that a big cartoon knot with an x on it was about to pop out of his hair like a horn, christening the new species of stupidity.

He propped himself up against the door opposite his hulking attacker, who had taken a moment to savor the view of human wreckage. It didn't last long. With a badge backing his every action, Sam was putty in his hands. Any mark he left would send Frasier to a night in the clink and Lilith would be left to her own ends. Literally. So, despite being a martial artist expert, he would take the beating and hope it would end with enough time for him to plead with Lilith again. Though, considering both alternatives, he wasn't sure a stint up the river was a bad idea compared to trying to climb over Lilith's impenetrable callus.

His head was still spinning. He could feel the blood pass his brow. He tried to stand, but immediately stumbled back down onto his bottom. Luckily, he had the officer there to help him back to his feet. Once again he stared uneasily into a crooked mouth, facing an onslaught of guttural sounds churning up from a mistreated belly. Sam squinted his eyes shut in preparation. His killer pulled back for a prompt, five knuckled delivery addressed to his face. The sound of blunt, thick flesh splattering against more of the same didn't sound like the recognizable _splash_ on T.V. and once more, Sam had never gotten use to it. It sounded more like meat with bones in it being tenderized by a rounded mallet_. Hope Frasier knows a really good dentist_, Sam thought, as the tedious, recoiling thud pieced his ears. His head lashed back from a direct hit that never came. The pull on his collar vanished and he came down _into_ his feet rather than onto them, still jelly, courtesy an excruciating rippling effect from the doorknob's kiss. On his back, he gawked blankly at the hallway's off-white ceiling whist more wearisome thumps echoed in his head.

Through the blurry mess clouding his eyes, he saw Dr. Sternin's slender form slither over him. Her glare scolded him. She was as the headmaster preparing the _board_ of education to remedy a child's unsatisfactory deeds. She was still in her robe. Her hair was wet and stringy, covering her features, giving her a softer, rounder jaw line. How little a difference...made…the difference...

...in a dorky_, I don't tan, I burn_ sort of way.

In other words she was gorgeous.

"You are so inadequate, Frasier." There was not a hint of inflection in her words. "Then again, that always endeared you to me."

He chuckled. "You remind me so much of Ziggy."

"What?"

He hadn't caught himself in time. How was he to back track? "A friend in Chicago," he quickly covered up his tracks. Strange how it slipped like that. Sam was always so very careful. He…remembered. He could recall Ziggy's voice again. The supercomputer's female voice, that coldly dispensed theories and teased Dr. Beckett in the same breath, had reached him from his own time. The blow to the head had done it. Of course. Released that piece of memory from the thick tendril of the spider's web in his mind. And in jarring it loose he realized how similar Ziggy and Dr. Sternin truly were. Talking with Ziggy was always a pissing match laced with oddly sexual, charged banter.

His dumb smile grew bigger. He finally understood Lilith.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Hit your head harder than I thought. You should go to the hospital."

"Why don't you lick my wounds for me," he replied. "You always did cherish the bragging rights. Then you can carry the victory back to your cave and smash it with a rock."

Amazing how such a frail woman could have quite the upper body strength, Sam learned, getting peeled off the floor like a puss ridden band aide. "Keep talking, Popeye," she snapped back as she put one arm around her neck to support him, "and I'll pack you off like Bluto here." She nodded toward the whimpering mass sprawled in their path. Sam's attacker looked more like a wad of chewed up gum than a grizzled cop.

Al was standing nearby, his jaw slack. "Sam, it was horrible." He was talking like he was still in Vietnam. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome sufferers didn't look as bad. "The bum never had a chance. She cleaned his clock good. Reminds me of a navy nurse I knew. Liked to wear life preservers to bed and pretend I was a pirate. Her bony knuckles stung."

"I'll have every friend I got down here…" The accumulation of battered pride uttered. "The jail'll rot around you."

"Yes," Lilith answered victoriously. "Tell them you were trampled by a member of the reverse sexual category—and while in her dressing gown no less. I hope your pride will stand it."

Inside Lilith's apartment, she dumped Sam on her couch like a sack of old potatoes, amidst the whiz banging of a game console blaring on the television not far away. The kid from before, oblivious to his presence, had his eyes glued to the campaign at hand.

"Hey," Sam said weakly, still joggled from his experience. "It's you."

"His name is Zachary," Lilith reappeared, slumping next to Sam on the sofa tucking her feet under her to prop herself up to Sam's level. "Are you taller?"

"Uh…" Sam instinctively sank into the cushion, briefly shooting Al a worried look. "No."

Lilith was an…interesting taskmaster when it came to doctor/patient relationships, Sam discovered. As she went to tending to his head, she demanded he stop suffocating her while simultaneously commanding he move closer. Closeness. Something he almost always had to do on his leaps, and he usually got through them with just a twinge of silent moral outcry, but this time, he felt as if the closer she got, the more into the demon goddesses power he fell. Those eyes, intense and glaring, hid something. Teased him now, rather than pierce him. He even thought he caught her smirking coyly as she applied peroxide to his cut. Though, his immediate pain may have stirred that. Hard to read a sadist's love meter. Still, he thought he saw…or felt something. Once inside her world, she was softer and gentler despite her bark and general frigidness. The put downs were beckoning and somehow warm. All of this overwhelmed Dr. Beckett. He was falling for her. One moment he was challenged to no end by her coldness, then without warning, puppy love was swelling in that goody two-shoes heart of his. _Oh boy._

"Don't get too comfy, Sam." Al knew love's first light when he saw it, no matter how lecherous he was. A hustler knew the real thing even when he practiced the facade. On the other hand, not actually being a sugar daddy with the babes anymore might have had something to do with that, thanks to Sam's visit to Beth, ushering her into the mind-boggling slot entitled _Al Calavicci's first and _only_ hubby_. "Remember what you're here to do. Stop her from taking the big sleep. If there's time…then go to bed with her. Though, ya never know. It's a religious experience, ain't it? _Do_ the bad feelings away?" How could Sam have ever doubted him? A lech was a lech was a lech.

"What about the kid?" He asked the old, horny Hologram.

"He'll be fine, all things considered." Lilith said, reaching for a bandage.

"No, he won't Sam," Al contradicted getting new and up-to-date information from his handlink. Sam knew when it beeped all frantic like that, there was going to be trouble. "That brick you dealt with outside's gonna make him pay for Lilith's conquest."

"I just wish I could get him away from his father." Zack ignored Lilith and the conversation, still only concerned with the game. "They've been nonstop companions since Zack's mother died."

"You're a shrink," Sam countered. "Maybe, we could counsel the guy…without fists. Get him some help?"

"Admirable, Dr. Schweitzer, but I've tried. No dice."

"Why?"

"Cause he's a pig," Al and Lilith said in unison. "In more ways than one. A pig that has a few ears," Lilith continued.

"That's right," Al concurred. "Zack's dad and his buddies do a few favors for the right kind of people…and well, things like this go unnoticed. Until tonight. Our little buddy's gonna get beaten to death. Can't bury that when it hits the front page."

Sam kept his cool. There had been bonus innings on leaps before. "Maybe, Zack could stay the night, Lilith?"

"Good going, Sam. Two birds, one stone." Al was such a cheerleader.

She grew uncomfortable and pulled away, his bandage only half pasted down. Sam knew why. Zack staying interfered with what she planned to do all along. Sam didn't beat around the bush, but tried to be subtler than his first open dive into her problems. "Lilith," Sam began, "maybe we could talk…about things. Your plans can't be as important as the kid having a break from his father. Besides, I think it'll be good for the three of us. Maybe, we will find a way to help all concerned. " Sam could spitball. Psychiatry wasn't his forte, but he tried his hand at winging it. "I have a feeling the answer lies within and if we're honest about how we feel—"

"Oh, God. A Freudian jigsaw puzzle." Lilith had such a way with words. After an awkwardly sarcastic silence, she succumbed. "Okay," she leaned over and completed his dressing. She inspected it even closer; making sure her work was perfect, bringing her face yet even nearer. Their noses were nearly touching. She felt the heat of his stare and finally returned it. All Sam need do was slant the rest of the way and put the finish on it.

"Your eyes look different," she said candidly. Too late. She picked up the refuse of her stint as a medic. "I'm going to change. Watch Zack."

The kid was completely immersed. Allowed for Sam to get away with some murmured communications with his invisible man. Al phased through the couch and acted as if he were patting his friend on the back, his hand only passing through an empty projection. "Great job, Sam."

Sam took out his cell phone and held it up to his ear. "Haven't leaped yet."

"Yeah, well, you just gotta see this night through. Then you'll hit the dusty trail. Ya know I'll actually be glad when this one's over. I thought for a minute you were really smitten with the abominable snowwoman."

Sam couldn't hide his smile.

"Ha ha. I knew it. Not that I blame ya. Those legs could melt a cheese sandwich from across a room."

"Any news on Frasier?"

"He's still a little iffy. Doin' better."

"Take all the time you need. Don't rush him."

"Huh? I thought you were real anxious about—"

"I've decided to stay."

"What?"

"I can hold things down for now."

"Sam." Al had underestimated how much the brief encounter with the woman had touched his good friend. Shouldn't have. After all this time, eventually Sam's swiss-cheesed brain would skip around the loneliness. Donna, Sam's wife, on the other hand, had faded long ago. The leaps had been getting tougher in more ways than one. After a while, jumping around, in and out of a million lives, seeing people grow and have families, and getting to be a part of them only to be snatched away for another errand was no hero's reward. The pride of the selfless didn't last forever. Sam wanted more, but this could never be. Not here. "Sure. That's a great idea. Who wouldn't want to live it up and wake up next to _that_ every morning? Dr. Crane will get over it, right? Body snatchings are fairly commonplace. He'll start over again. He's been destroyed before. Lost his boy, why not his life. He was going for that anyway."

"What is your problem?" Sam said louder. "I just want to make sure their squared away before I—"

"Bull. You're getting attached. You latch on to her and you'll never be able to let her go when its time. Besides, its not up to you how long you stay. Its up to—" Al pointed toward the ceiling.

"Look, damn it. Will you just stop with this crap? So what? I like her. I like being around her. Maybe, I just want a taste of a life beyond fixing everyone else's while mine disintegrates every time I leap!"

"Are you okay?" It was the boy. Nothing like a man talking to himself to terrify the younger generation.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I was just…using my phone." He waved it. "Got some bad news."

The kid still thought he was a nut, but was satisfied enough to return to his suspended diversion.

Sam turned back to Al, who was standing in the glow of the holodoor.

"Al," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I just—I won't even remember her after I leap. Can't I have just a little time."

"That's all you and I got, Sam. Time." The door closed and Al was gone.

Next Chapter: Sore Spots


	6. Chapter Five: Sore Spots

Chapter Five: Sore Spots.

Night fell over Boston.

Sam's stomach was tying itself into knots. Both Lilith and Zack were under his careful watch, yet somehow he felt he was making little difference in their lives. Zack would eventually have to go home and face his father's wrath, and Sam couldn't tie himself to Dr. Sternin's hip. On top of all of this, he had hurt a friend. Not just a friend. Al was much more. To sacrifice as much, if not more than Sam by being his constant companion on a journey Sam knew, by choice, would never end, was something no mere colleague could put himself through. He was a brother without bond of blood, though either man would shed it for the other. And Sam had snapped at him and sent him away like a meager sidekick who performed a function or an unpaid service instead of a courtesy out of camaraderie and respect. And for what? Because Sam liked Lilith's cold, calculated jabs and sardonic wit? A woman he knew for a few hours trumped a multi-decade solidarity? Sam had proclaimed a simple enjoyment of her company and a desire to savor it before he was moved on. Al maintained that a love was growing between them. Maybe he was right. Maybe this…attraction would become more than that the more he indulged it. All Al was worried about was Sam getting too attached. A blooming love could make a man do crazy things. Like covet a woman that belonged to another. Frasier. He remembered the leape. He was here to save _his_ life too. The man whom Sam was dedicated to reuniting with Lilith to mend both of their lives and he was coveting her behind his back, like an opportunistic thug, _and_ breaking one of his rules of quantum leaping in the process. How dare he.

But, when he looked at her…

_It's just for a little while_, he thought. _Frasier can have tomorrow. I want this night_.

It was agreed upon between the two adults and eager child that the latter would spend the night with them, and somehow the former Drs Crane would face down parental tyranny on the morrow. While Lilith prepared a bed for Zack in her study, Sam found himself wandering the parameter of the living room, torn between wanting to get closer to the woman and recognizing the danger that still lay ahead in confronting her actions and putting Frederick to rest.

"Do you desire some sort of beverage?" Lilith's casual vocabulary, stiff and closely controlled, seemed to call upon Sam through the façade of Frasier. Her hair was down and was draped in a burgundy blouse. Her slender legs looked even thinner inside her dark colored, feminizing slacks.

Sam was standing with his arms folded behind his back, like a viewer at an art gallery, dancing his eyes from orb to orb for some sign of softness that he could prey on to reach her. He silently stumbled for the words to address her.

"Frasier…"

"What am I supposed to say? Nothing? Pretend everything's okay? Let you go on like this? Do I have to make my peace at your funeral?"

"Don't be such a drama queen." She showed no signs of breaking. She couldn't hide it, though. After all those years of leaping, there was one thing a swiss-cheesed brain could never take away from him. The ability to see pain, no matter what disguise it had chosen for itself.

"You can't keep yourself behind a wall of unfeeling. Your heart beats, Lilith. Don't silence it." His hands wrapped around her shoulders.

"I just…wanted to sleep. It wouldn't have hurt anyone. Just to sleep…"

"Don't be so selfish, damn it. Suicide is a self-satisfying act. You're a doctor. Your gift is the most precious of any healer. You mend the soul—" And finally it came through. Nothing any platitude could touch. An absolute truth. "Every time I look at you, I can't help but want to stay."

"Me too." Her eyes diminished into a mild confusion and as she stared into his own desperate gaze, he became unfamiliar, as if she were in the arms of a kind stranger. "You act as if you haven't known me for twenty years. All my faults…"

"Your strengths," he added.

"And you behave as if I didn't kill your son," she jerked away and collapsed into her hands, weeping for a wrong Sam couldn't right. "I shouldn't have made the turn…"

Sam grabbed a hold of her again and pulled her into an embrace. He could feel the strain of her tears against his chest. The power of it overwhelmed him. He could feel tears of his own come forward for a child he had never met. "How could you ever think that? The drunk that hit you has to bare the responsibility of that wound, not you. Not you, Lilith."

"I want to die." Her voice, though muffled, still rang out like thunder. The everlasting rumble of rock bottom echoed in Sam's ears.

"Fred—our son—wouldn't want his mom to die. Not for something she had no control of. You are innocent. And there's another boy who needs you now."

They stood there for a long time. Sam cradled her while her pain emptied into him. Finally, dampened and musty, the two parted. Lilith let her hands crawl up to his neckline. "Do you love me, Frasier?" She said through stiffened sniffles.

He hesitated. He couldn't answer for Dr. Crane. If he said 'Frasier Crane loves you,' and he leaped out and put Frasier back without any conformation of this fact, a dazed Frasier might only be a temporary fix until his true, and possibly to the contrary, feelings were revealed.

Could Sam answer as himself? He _wanted_ to say 'yes.' Given time and a different set of conditions, Sam was sure that he would have loved Lilith Sternin freely. But, he knew now he would never know for certain. The circumstances made it impossible. And it was not his place to say 'yes.' Whether or not Sam felt anything for Lilith was immaterial. He was there only to put right what once went wrong, not splurge his personal desires, using Lilith up like some vampire in need of sustenance until he was contented to leave her. _If only I could tell Al that, now._

Perhaps his old friend could hear him.

"Yes," a familiar voice confirmed. "I do."

His own voice. Had it slipped out? Had his feelings overcome him in a last ditch effort to announce his affection?

Sam looked passed Lilith and saw himself. Sam Beckett. Experience taught him to keep outbursts directed at holographic images minimal, lest his cover be blown. This one took the cake, however. His jaw dropped. It was _him_. It had been many years since he'd been able to look at himself, always seeing someone else's face in the mirror. The last time was in bar on the day of his birth, where his life had been turned upside down for the second time. The first being the day he stepped onto PQL's accelerator. However, this was no mirror image. This was Sam Beckett in the flesh. Older than the last time he saw him, but recognizable as the head of Project Quantum Leap and the father of Ziggy.

"I always have," the other Sam confirmed again. His hand was on Al's shoulder. The aged hologram had a crooked, but weak grin plastered on his face. Double Sam was touching Al so that his voice could be heard through the only person synchronized to Sam's brainwaves and vise versa.

Sam returned Al's smile and looked back at Lilith. "Yes. I always have."

"I wish I could have been there for you all this time," the body swapped Frasier continued. "But I was hurting, too."

Sam repeated his words.

"A couple of new friends picked me up out of my nightmare, though." Frasier went on. "And I realized how much you needed me…and I you…my little sweet potato."

Understandably, Sam tripped over 'sweet potato' a few times before it came out, but he got through it, nonetheless.

"I love you too, cinnamon bear."

Sam couldn't resist a giggle, but he found it quieted by an ice-cold kiss. Long. Hard. Nippy. After a prolonged, silent groping session, Frasier finally spoke up. "All right, all right. That's enough there, fella."

"Aw. come on. Let 'em go at it a while. Could be a nice…learning…" Al never finished his sentence. He was fading deeper into Sam & Lilith's prologue to love making.

Frasier didn't think Al's suggestion apt. "I'd appreciate it if you'd get your eyes back in your head, Admiral Calavicci." He jerked him over by the arm to maintain the connection and started swinging his free arm wildly into the undulating bodies, in futility, of course.

Lilith pounced Sam and the two fell over onto the couch. She continued to rub him like a cat without claws atop a scratching post. It was as if she were getting use to him again. Re-finding every angle of her ex-husband's body before proceeding, all the while her lips pressed against his. Sam, other than being completely taken in the moment, his boy scout's honor gone fishin', couldn't shake an image of himself making out with an ice cream cone. Delicious, but dangerously chilly.

Just when he thought he was about to leap, their lips parted. He could feel a familiar sting under his bandage. Not on his head, however. On his wrist. Lilith's fingers felt it up, tearing at the stretchy cloth under his sleeve, running along the fresh lesion.

She jumped off of him. "How could you?!" She screamed. "You tried to kill yourself, too! And then you judged me and told me it was going to be okay just to get me to fall into bed with you!"

It was all happening so fast. She bolted from the room into her bedroom and slammed the door. Sam heard it lock as he pressed himself up against it. "Lilith!" He called. Other words failed him. As he tried to push his way in to no avail, he eyed the two holograms worriedly. Frasier, his head fallen in his despair, looked over his arm. Well, technically Sam's. A red gash smiled back. He had nearly killed them both in his attempt at suicide. Al was franticly punching and wrapping his handlink.

"You better get that door open, Sam," Al warned, reading the information. "She's gonna take a dive! She's gonna die! You haven't changed anything, Sam!"

Sam was already exhausted. Every time he slammed against the door, the harder it was to center himself again.

"Break it down!" Al was still screaming. Frasier was there too, hoisted back to the now, hand gripped tight on Al's shoulder, yelling.

Just as the door gave away, Al hollered, "Sam, look out!"

The door frame was wide open, but he couldn't go inside. A sharp pain flooded from the base of his neck to the rest of his body. As he lay flat on the verge of unconsciousness, he could hear a struggle…Al and Frasier yelling…and Lilith screaming for her life. Her life. She didn't want to die anymore? Maybe it would take someone else killing her.

Next Chapter: Putting things right that once went wrong.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Putting things right that once went wrong.

He could hear his heart beating. No. Firing. Like machine gunfire. Nothing else. Sam's body and mind had left him again. Was he leaping? No. His memory was still there. Lilith was in danger. The mission wasn't over yet. Lilith was screaming. No. She _had_ been screaming. Her strained howls had been silenced and all there was left was a foggy nothingness and a tingle in his wrist. The gash. The only essence of his corporal being. _Get up! _A voice was commanding him. Was it his own thoughts calling from his murky stupor or someone else? Maybe both. Using his only link to the real—the wound—Sam used it to find his deafened senses. It was like his leg had fallen asleep, but had taken the rest of the carcass with it. Getting the blood to flow back through it hurt like hell, but the sensation had an addictive magnetism he could relive over and over again and still come back for more.

"Get up, Sam!" Al's voiced fought its way through the cobwebs.

"Where's Frasier?" Sam's first question as he toughed it back onto his hands and knees.

"I had him go back to the waiting room!" Sam could hear the handlink buzzing riotously. "You gotta get going, Sam! Those two goons got Lilith and the boy! You didn't change anything! Just _how_ they died. Lilith doesn't commit suicide, now! She's murdered!"

"Two?" Sam muttered, still not all there. "Who are they?"

"I dunno," Al admitted. "Ziggy's got nothin'. They never got caught. Nobody ever finds the boy, Sam! Lilith's body turns up about eight miles from here!"

Peril's call had Sam back on his feet, albeit dazed and wobbly like a spinning top. Lilith's front door had been kicked in, not unlike the job he'd done on her bedroom. "Where are they?!" Sam managed to say through a heavy jaw and clenched teeth.

After a few purposeful clicks, Al had an answer. "They have them on the stairs."

Sam was off like a bolt of lightening. Outside in the hall, a re-centered Al waved his arms as if he could block the unwavering hero. "Wait! They're already on the second level. You'll never catch up!"

"Then what do I do, damn it?!" Before Al could do the figures, Sam frenziedly shrugged him off, sprinting through the holograph, down the hall. An open door stopped him. Zack's father's place. The door was busted down in a similar display as Lilith's apartment. Sam popped his head in and saw the shambled living quarters, immediately overwhelmed by a new understanding of Zack's life with his dad. Pizza boxes, beer cans, and every other cliché one could think of greeted the tidy quantum physicist like a gateway to hell, all piled high one atop another like mountains of the damned. Sam dared to think that he could tell how long they had lived there based on an analysis of each layer of trash, each at a different level of decomposition. Among the battered and disarrayed he found the human shards that was the boy's father. He was face down. Beaten. Sam turned him over. He was still conscious, but not alert in the least. His eyes were barely open. His chest rose and fell erratically. "Who were they?! Where are they going?!" Sam shook him against the better judgment of his learned know-how.

"Mac…Len…Lenny…loan sharks…wanted collateral…" The evaporating testimony came in waves, slowly chipping away at Sam's chance to rescue them. "I told 'em…take the boy…"

"Son of a bitch!" Sam released him and stood up, with no idea how to continue. His feet were burning, trying to break off and run for some hopeless chance that they could make it in time to stop them. His eyes darted all around the shattered room, panic loose in his soul. What now? What now?

"Sam!" Al appeared in a flash before his friend like a magician in a puff of purple smoke. The flash: his clothes. The smoke: his cigar. "I've got a lock on them. They just got into a car. A black sedan. Had trouble tying them up. It bought you some time. They're moving. Gonna come around the corner and go down this street in about twelve seconds. Left to right." He pointed with his cigar toward the opposite wall with the window.

"How the hell am I supposed to get to them?!"

"Well…outside there's a fire escape."

"Oh boy!"

Thank god Sam had long since dealt with his fear of heights. Flying with the Panzini's trapeze act would do him some good after all.

_12_

_11_

_10_

He had to break the window. He used chair legs to do it, jousting the glass with both hands tightly gripped around the armrests. He bumped his already tenderized head on the window frame twice before he managed to get out onto the fire escape, leaving the bandage behind, left hanging on a single shard of glass still holding on to the pane for dear life.

_8 _

_7_

_6_

"Do you _have_ to do that?!" Despite his voice being swept away under the whipping December winds, Al heard him. The sight of the hologram standing on nothing made Sam queasy. He kept his eyes closed after one gander, determined not to lose his cookies as he felt his way down one level at a time. Not enough time to drop the ladder. He used the bars to support his weight as he balanced on the railing below, on the third floor, and then repeated it step for step on the second. He turned around; nearly losing his footing to a big gust of wind that went under his coat, thrashing it like a cape.

_5_

_4_

_3_

"Hah! I'm just like Superman!" Al always found humor in the most desperate of situations. He strolled along the night air effortlessly, hovering over a city that couldn't see him.

_2_

_1_

Sam was pressed against the cold metal like a pancake. The freezing temperature was starting to glue him to it after only a few seconds. It reminded him of Lilith's embrace.

_0_

He squinted his eyes open, all the tears and moisture immediately sucking out of his sockets. He saw the car, its lights illuminating the big blob of blackness below.

"Here they come, Sam!"

There was no time to think about it. If he considered what he was doing rationally even for one nanosecond, Lilith and Zack were dead.

He leaped.

In the blink of a cosmic clock and the whimsical click of a button, Al centered on Lilith and Zack. If they could have seen him, he'd look like he was morphing into one of their captors, sitting in the same spot, pistol drawn. Lilith and Zack were in the back seat, crunched together with their arms tied behind their backs and their mouths taped. They were scared. Real scared. One man sat in the backseat with them, positioned behind the drivers seat and the other was, of course, driving. Both had on sweaters and windbreakers. One bright red, the other green, which made Al chuckle. They looked like a couple of minivan dads. He had half expected them to be wearing dark suits and wide fedoras. _Too many leaps in the fifties_, he thought. _These middle aged punks are just a couple of weekend killers_.

The car was eerily silent. "Don't worry guys," Al consoled futilely. "Sam's coming—"_thud!_ "—Sam's here." With another pluck at the handlink, Al lifted into the air unsteadily, like a man on the fork end of a forklift. His head passed through the roof of the car right into Sam's face.

"Gaaaaaaaaah!" Sam greeted friendlily, holding on for dear life.

Calmly, Al related the arrangement of his targets, and then sank back into the car.

"Did you hear that?" The man driving said.

"Sounded big," other replied, cocking his gun.

After a short prayer to his inner deity, Sam sprang into action. Frasier's expensive, zip code priced shoes came crashing through the window and into the driver's face. Needless to say, they were scuffed. The driver slumped into passenger side and Sam fell into the seat hard like a cowboy into the saddle, instinctively grabbing a hold of the steering and trying to settle a spooked horse down as it began to jerk wildly out of control. The man in the back, overcoming his shock, turned the gun to the back of Sam's skull.

"Watch out, Sam!" Al screamed in unison with the kidnapped duo's muffled cautionary pleas.

Sam pulled on the seat's levered adjuster. The headrest slammed into the man's trigger hand, snapping the arm as it continued into his face. The gun dropped under the seat and he fell unconscious against Lilith's shoulder. The ousted driver had regained himself and was trying pull his firearm loose from his inside pocket. Lilith reared up her feet and jabbed him in the back of the head with her heels. Sam was poised to take advantage of the distraction, but found his equilibrium suddenly thrown off balance. His stomach lurched and his limbs swooned, the unmistakable signs of a body in the midst of a car crash.

Next Chapter: Epilogue.


	8. Chapter Seven: Epilogue

Chapter Seven: Epilogue.

Sam, Lilith, and Zack hung on one another amidst the blare of sirens. Somehow, they had emerged unscathed from the crash, the extent of their damage confined to being shaken up like dice in a closed fist. Their captors weren't so lucky. None of the ordeal mattered anymore. Each, in their own way, knew things would be okay, whether this knowledge came from the intuition of the young, the rationale of a stern psychiatrist, or the heads up of an observer from the future. After wrapping her in his coat, Sam held Lilith closer than ever in preparation of his leap. He didn't want to let go. She meant more to him than perhaps any other woman he'd aided on his journey. The saddest thing was not being able to stick around long enough to know why.

As the cop cars surrounded them and the ambulance fought for a space in a growing crowd of spectators, the two were finally separated by the officers and medics, whom checked each person over separately. Sam was put on the bumper of the meat wagon and given a few curbside tests to check impairment of his motor function. He checked out fine, although noted for his antsy determination to be with Lilith again. However, he wasn't going anywhere until someone explained the incident. Of course everything would be all right. He didn't need to hear it from a cop, however. A check in from Al would suffice. Eventually, he was left alone long enough to talk to himself.

After the coast was clear, Al appeared with information on the newly revised history. "She never tries to commit suicide again," Al warmly relayed.

"And Zack?"

"Interesting turn out. According to the resulting police investigation by internal affairs, the two stiffs in the car are part time loan sharks and part time underworld types. Gambling, drugs, hits, prostitution, white slavery, the whole shebang. This mess tonight busts open Zack's father's dealings with them and brings a crap load of arrests and reform in the police department. Zack's dad does a lot…_a lot_ of time. Dr. pasty complexion adopts the kid. God, she turns him into a shrink, too."

"Frasier and Lilith?"

"In a few months, Frasier and Lilith write a follow up to an article they collaborated on a while back about raising a child from a shrink's perceptive. It's about handling the loss of a kid."

"Do they get back together?"

Al fidgeted with the handlink and one of his typically inopportune pauses resulted, an answer in and of itself.

"No?"

"No. Sorry, Sam. The need they have of one another is a fresh start to their friendship and colleague-ship."

Sam buried his head in his hands and sighed. He was so sure there was hope, especially after hearing Frasier's heartfelt confession. Granted, when he took his place back in this time, he wouldn't remember anything of what transpired in the waiting room or otherwise, as with all those displaced by Sam. He would retain his sessions with Dr. Beeks in a certain deja vu sense and generally be instilled with the will to live, but Sam had hoped he would find his way back to her on his own, letting his unrequited feelings pour out. Sam considered what he might have done different over and over again, then finally looked at Al and smiled.

"What?" Al asked giddily in preparation of a joke.

"I haven't leaped yet, Al."

"No, Sam. Don't!" It was no use; Sam had already set his intentions in crystal. "Don't change history any further than you already have! Everything works out!"

"Sometimes, I wonder why you even try, Al." He had to push his way through a mountain of people to find her. The police had let the scene go to pieces and the audience had taken it over like pioneers claiming their stake at land. The crowd was thick and dense, but he still found her. He would always find her…as long as his memory of her lasted.

She had stepped onto the sidewalk away from the onlookers, crawling all over one another, swarming the crashed car, like vermin swarming a wounded animal ripe for the taking. Zack was right next to her, clinging to Frasier's borrowed coattails. When her dark eyes met his, even from a great distance, Sam could see the spark inside. There was still love there. He couldn't let them pass up one more chance at happiness. Sure, the contentment he'd already left them was good and fine, but happiness…a happiness Sam would never be able to know, was worth bestowing upon people who could relish it. Protect it. Defend it. Embrace everyday with it in fear that it might suddenly be gone tomorrow.

"Are you going to be all right?" Sam had begun a dozen goodbyes, usually one sided. How could they ever understand the truth?

"Fine," Lilith replied quietly. "Does this mean you're leaving? I'd hoped you'd stay for a while."

"Yes…but I want you and Zack to come with me…My dad wants to see you for Christmas."

"I find that unlikely."

"Can we…give it one more chance?"

"I don't know. Can we?" Lilith was always a fencer.

"You're not changing anything Sam." It was Al. "Still the same story."

"Marry me again," Sam blurted.

"Frasier—this was a vulnerable moment for us both. I don't want us to misread it as something else."

"Or let psych chagrin hide what we really feel."

The handlink buzzed in its verdict. A familiar sound. Finally, one Sam was fond of. Al dutifully passed along the readout. "All right, Romeo. You've changed history again. They remarry and raise the kid together. Gonna be a bumpy marriage, but they'll make it. All the other stuff still happens, too. The article and et cetera. And—" Al's eyes got really big "—get this. A few years from now, on a trip to a psychiatric convention in New Mexico, Lilith and Frasier meet Dr. Beeks—"

"Frasier," Lilith began as gleeful as possible for a robot in heels. "You took away the best years of my life…don't do it to my golden ones or I'll beat you over your shiny head with a baseball bat."

He took a hold of her around the shoulders and looked long and hard at her face. _God, please let me remember her. Don't let her image fade. She may escape my recollection, but even in the wilderness of my amnesia, I'll find her again, with sword in hand, this demon goddess, who belongs to the night._

"They're on the project, Sam!" Al shouted. "I don't believe it!"

"I love you, Dr. Crane," Lilith proclaimed.

"I love you more, Dr, Sternin," Sam replied.

When their lips met, he leaped.

The freezing December night suddenly became a sweltering heat, the change of which nearly sent him into shock. His mind was racing, and wandering in an infinite void, his only sense that of the hot sticky box that was now his new existence. The bittersweet feeling of love lost was dissolving. Matter of fact, he wasn't really sure why he'd felt that way at all. He couldn't remember why, more precisely. He couldn't remember anything. Not his name, who his parents were, who his first love was, where he had gone to high school. Nothing. However, panic never crossed his worried mind, which had other, more pressing things on it he knew he felt strongly about, but couldn't explain in any detail. These thoughts were as vague as the empty space he inhabited. He was stressed, tired from a _very_ long day that seemed to have lasted years, and yet relieved at the same time. Relieved to be going home. Home. It rang true somehow. Home was very far away. But, he was going there soon. Thank God. Even in blindness he could sense his own smile.

"Glad to be going home?" A voice asked from the darkness.

He couldn't hear his own voice respond, but could feel his vocal cords utter something. Probably a reply along the lines of, 'uh huh' or 'yeah.' As it passed his lips he took his first breath of air. His body welcomed it as a long drink of life, freed from a tomb.

He picked up the faint sound of repetition. No. It was not sound. He was feeling it through his prison. _Pump, pump, pump_. His pulse? No. Not quite. _Pump, pump, whip, whip, whip. _Chopper blades. Going around and around and around. A helicopter. He was on a helicopter.

God, it was so hot.

He felt his stomach lunge into his throat. He lurched forward unable to stay seated. He braced himself with his hands. They pressed against hot glass. It burned him and he screamed. He heard it! He was screaming and so was his pilot. All of his senses came flooding back in time to see the ground rocketing toward him.

He awoke to the sound of burning wreckage. Somehow he had managed to crawl out of the chopper before collapsing and baking in the sun. All he wanted to do was stay there. _What about the pilot?_ He was probably dead. He needed to rest. Needed to place himself. _You're Sam. Go find the pilot._ Sam who? _Sam…Calavicci._ No. _Beckett. Sam Beckett. Go find the pilot. _He'll need a doctor._ You are a doctor. You hold seven_ _doctorates in music, medicine, quantum physics, archeology, ancient languages, chemistry, and astronomy. And he may be your ticket out. _Why?_ Because you're trapped in time._

And he remembered. Samuel 'Sam' Beckett. Social Security number. 563-86-9801. Profession. Quantum physicist and lead scientist of Project Quantum Leap. Status. Trapped in time.

He rolled onto his stomach and took a few breaths, some of which were face to face with dirt. His swiss cheesed brain was aching. He tried to remember his last leap. He couldn't. A common side effect of leaping. He remembered it being difficult and more modern than usual, but the more he tried to recall it, the more it hurt. For some reason, he knew it was important to him to keep it. Something he never wanted to let go of…

…it was no use. Probably no big deal, anyway. Oh well.

The pilot's moaning interrupted his headache. He fumbled around on all fours until he found him, sprawled a few feet from the downed helicopter, his midsection at the edge of a puddle that was bucking for lake status.

The guy was in olive drab. Military. He was tanned badly; lots of pealing skin on his cheeks. He had covered his belly with his cap, as if embarrassed by his wound.

"Let's move that," Sam said. "I have to take a look at it. Don't worry. I'm a doctor."

The guy was scared. He was shaking, but determined to keep his cool in front of Sam. "I know, Hawk. How bad is it?"

_Hawk_? "I wont know until I see it, uh—" he eyed shiny metal on his chest linked to a chain around his neck. Dog tags. He picked them up and read them—"Castle coma Tom."

"Hawk, you act like you don't even know me."

"I'm just a little shook up from the crash. Knocked a few things loose. Let's hope my med school classes weren't one of 'em." Despite the direness of the situation, Sam was impressed with his sudden penchant for, and skill at, quick-witted humor. "It's pretty deep. I need something to—"

"There's a first aide kit in the chopper. Maybe the fire hasn't gotten to it."

"I don't get singed for just anybody, fella." More humor. Sam wasn't exactly known for knocking 'em dead with the giggles. Castle laughed anyway.

Sam jumped up and the blood shot to his head, taking him right back down. He collapsed into the puddle. The cool water felt great. He lifted up again and caught his reflection. Who was the gangily, boozed out, train wreck looking back at him? He looked like he was in his forties…until something ran him over…in both directions. He had a nice head of hair, albeit salt and peppered worse than a cheep steak. He had on olive drab, too. No rank insignias though. He grabbed for his dog tags and committed the name on them to his swiss cheesed memory.

Pierce, Benjamin F.

US12836413

After a long breath, he said, "Oh, boy."

Dr. Sam Beckett's extraordinary time-travel adventure continues…

The End.


End file.
